For the umpteenth time in the past 3 months, we of the Penn State diaspora have reason to grieve. What follows is all I personally know about Coach Paterno. Nobody except my Awesome Breathing Partner knows these stories. If you want to read the rest of this, I thank you. I'll read about your memories too, if you want to share somewhere.

Age 14:

A skinny 9th grader suffering from all of the insecurities that accompany adolescence, I entered (against my better judgement) the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts poetry contest with a ridiculous sonnet. Yes, iambic pentameter, 14 lines, rhyming couplet. The whole deal. Subject: fast food. Title: Ode to the Big Mac. Silly, silly juvenile stuff. Our amazing English teacher, Miss Riley, encouraged me to submit the dang thing in a contest. I don't know if there were only four entries or what, but for whatever reason I was awarded Honorable Mention. This is where the coach comes in. You know he was a man of letters, right? He was the presenter of writing awards at the Arts Festival in those days. The coach handed me a plaque and a framed copy of my incredible work of literature (Ha!), and said something to the effect of: "Never stop writing, kid. You'll be doing yourself a favor if you never stop writing." Joe Paterno himself peered at me through those famous lenses and tried to teach me a life lesson. Heady stuff for a kid who lived in an apartment (in a complex called Nittany Gardens, no less) with his mom and sister, that's for sure.

Age 17:

There I am with Judy Heicklen in the gym at State College Area High School. We're holding each other up. It's late at night. Why? Because it's the Dance Marathon, of course. One of Joepa's daughters was in our class. I should have known her well because our lockers were next to each other down by the chemistry lab. But I never summoned the courage to talk to her. I am so sorry for her loss today. Anyway, maybe because his daughter was participating, Coach stopped by and gave a little inspirational speech, the content of which I can't recall. Then he went around the room and said something to us individually. Something like "Keep going. We're proud of you." Joe Paterno himself told me he was proud of us! I think I know how one of his players must have felt when Joe gave him a pat on the back. Great coach.

Age 20:

If you went to Penn State, you probably had at least one random encounter with Joe. As I recall, I was walking along Shortlidge Road on my way to class. It was cold and people were walking around with their heads down. Most of you probably know that Joepa lived in a very modest house on the edge of campus. We passed as he was, I assume, walking to work. I caught his eye and said, "Stay warm, Coach". He gave me one of those Brooklyn-tinged chuckles in return. What I admired most about the man is that he never seemed to take himself too seriously.

Age 35:

The last time I spoke with Joe was at a party for a mutual friend (Miss Riley, English teacher nonpareil, coincidentally) at the Nittany Lion Inn. It was a lovely summer evening on the lawn and we were introduced. He asked me, "Do you still write poetry?" I was floored. Or grassed, as the case may be. In retrospect it was presumptuous of me to think that he remembered the skinny ninth-grader on the award stand so many years ago. I'm pretty sure now that Miss Riley said something to him. (But if so, come to think of it, how would SHE have remembered?) He had a nimble mind, I'm pretty sure. Maybe it was nimble enough to remember my name. Sounds good. I think I'll go with that. That's what the Awesome Breathing Partner thinks, and she is pretty much always right.

Coach Paterno always used to say, "You're never as good as you think you are when you're winning. But you're never as bad as you think you are when you're losing." I'm pretty sure he never got too caught up in all the icon and legend stuff. And I hope that he never thought any worse of himself over the past few months. If I could talk to him one more time, I'd say "Thanks for being someone who inspires a person to never forget four brief, memorable encounters with you, Coach."

Addendum 7.18.12

In light of the findings in the Freeh report, I have to say that there is some language in that last paragraph that I should qualify. If Joe did not do the things that are implied in the various cited emails, I hope he was able to go to his rest in peace. If he did indeed actively shelter a monster at the expense of vulnerable children, I hope he was tormented in his last days at the thought of the consequences of his actions for the victims, Joe's family, and the greater community of Penn Staters and State College natives.